Our Children
by Hakurei Ryuu
Summary: Vegeta, in a rather contemplative mood, watches Goten and Trunks play on a beach. post-Kid Buu.


AN: Written in a more esoteric mood than my usual stuff. But enjoy! Continuity is post-Kid Buu, but only just.

**Disclaimer:** Dragonball Z is copyrighted to Akira Toriyama.

* * *

_"How they dance,_  
_Unembarrassed and alone,_  
_Hearing music of their own,_  
_Our children._  
_See them running down the beach._  
_Children run so fast_  
_Toward the future_  
_From the past."_  
—Ragtime, "Our Children"

* * *

Pale-streaked clouds race across a darkening sky, seeking the last remaining light of a sun that has long since set. Only a few remaining rays light the scene in a wash of slate-colored illumination, turning the sand from pale gold to silver. Waves of white foam roll and roar and crash into the shore, leaving everything untouched and nothing unchanged. Beyond them is the wide ocean, vast and calm and tinted ever so slightly in lilac to match the twilit sky. Off to the east, where it is darkest, the very first stars begin to shine.

Impenetrable black eyes gaze out over the endless boundary between sea and sky, trying to pinpoint a horizon that isn't there. He searches for that hidden seam, for a vantage point from which to view the rest of the world, but it is difficult. The sky is a dusky silver and the ocean is blue-black, and they meld and fuse together flawlessly between the approaching mist and heaving waters. The perpetual motion leaves him dizzy for a moment, but he catches himself and returns his gaze to the relative stability of the beach.

Did planet Vegeta have oceans like this? He couldn't remember. Five is young even by human terms, and no age to have everything and everyone you've ever known taken away, leaving only raw hatred and vengence in its place, burning you from the inside out—

The dark eyes blink, and push the memories away.

Vegeta is not alone on the beach, but he is not really among others either. He hovers on the fringes of their little group, close enough to know but not enough to be known. That is how he prefers it. His small stature does nothing to lessen his intimidating appearance, and there are few who would venture near him even on a good day: the last remaining vestiges of a time—years and years and lifetimes ago, but it really doesn't seem that long—when he would have liked nothing more than to murder them all because it was convenient.

There is a profound difference between then and now. He is still searching for what it is though.

One of his reasons is alone as well, but unlike the father, the son is alone with a friend. They stand together, side by side, right where the water strikes the sand. Ever-changing though it is, the shore is the only discernable barrier for miles in any direction, but the children cross it and defy it and erase it without even trying. It is a game they are playing: who can make the other wetter? The salt probably stings their eyes, but they don't seem to care. They are alone in the world, alone with each other.

Not long ago they _were_ alone in the world. It hadn't taken long for Vegeta to piece together the story of their battles, their achievements. He might have been surprised, were the children in question anyone else. He had long since gotten over his shock at the miraculous feats the human-Saiyan hybrid could achieve, with a near-limitless potential far greater than either race alone. Is it their mixed heritage that makes them strong? Their youth? Or is it something else entirely (something that he, the Prince of all Saiyans, lacks)?

He tilts his head as Kakarot's words come back to him. _"We're creating a _new_ race here, one that can be just as strong, just as proud. But not if we're so caught up in our old... _birthrights_ to see what we have right here in front of us!"_

Vegeta sees. He sees very well.

Sometimes he wonders if he has seen too much.

(Like always when he starts wondering such things, he pushes the useless thoughts to the back of his mind. A warrior has no use for feelings of regret.)

He senses her approach long before she arrives. Her's is a persence he is used to, but he still tenses up when she sits next to him with all the _nearness_ she'd always insisted upon and slowly taught him to... to tolerate, if not fully enjoy. He growls slightly at the reflex, because it is not fully under his control (like so many things; like her; like _him_), and forces his muscles to relax.

They do. Slightly.

But not soon enough. She has seen the reaction; he sees it in her narrowed eyes.

"Do I _want_ to know what happened to you up there?" Bulma asks. She is not referring to the Kai planet. She already knows about the Kai planet; they all do.

The children are racing now. Not flying, but running, for the sheer pleasure and exhileration of the exercise. Goten pulls ahead momentarily, but Trunks passes him easily, smirking as he does so. The younger's eyes suddenly alight with mischief, and he tackles Trunks from behind. They immediately begin wrestling, but that only lasts a moment before a wave crashes on top of them, causing the boys to break apart in a fit of helpless laughter, the competition and the finish line already forgotten.

"It doesn't matter," he answers. Bulma rolls her eyes with a small sigh, knowing that this is all the answer she is likely to get, at least for now.

After a moment or two of silence, she gets up and leaves to return to the main group. Vegeta watches her retreating form out of the corner of his eye, knowing that she will corner him later. He will tell her what she wants to know (in some way or another) and she will tell him about the new life growing inside her (he can already sense the subtle shift in her _ki_). But for now there is a mutual decision to let the matter drop. Years of living together have gained them that much of an understanding at least.

It had not been his first experience with death, nor would it be his last. Murder or suicide, the difference means little if you've led this kind of life. Otherworld is a simple place, one with many different colors but absolutely no shades of gray—there are only two possible outcomes, and you are either one or the other. Both times he died, Vegeta had known exactly which one he was.

Now he is not so sure. When Porunga had completed the second wish, he had been genuinely surprised to find his halo gone and his body restored. Yes, it had been his idea to ressurect the people he'd murdered, but there was nothing altruistic about it. Even now, his idea of compassion didn't go beyond level of triage at best. He'd brought them back because they were useful, because he'd needed them to power the Genki Dama.

Right?

Clarity is something that always came easily in the past. Even when he lost his home, his family, and his freedom at such a young age, it was still clear what had to be done. It was clear who and what he was. It was exceedingly clear who was to blame for it. It was not until he came to Earth that everything that was clear became so muddled, that previously unchallenged beliefs were called repeatedly into question. (But Kakarot exists to be a source of confusion in his life. Vegeta knows this clearest of all.)

Gohan joins the children by the water when they wave him over, and that girl who's been practically glued to his side since their return follows him. Goten and Trunks immediately take on of his hands each, impatiently tugging him over to see the sand castle they've built together. Videl trails after the trio, amusement in her eyes, before taking flight (for no reason other than because she _can_) and beating them to it. All four of them laugh, and then set about making the sand castle bigger and better than it was before.

A twitch on his senses alerts him to the approach of another, one whom he'd been expecting to see for some time now, and of whom he's had to seriously re-evaluate his opinion over the past few weeks. "Can't I get a moment's peace without it being interrupted?" The words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to wonder what he means by them. Prone though he is to rash decisions, Vegeta does not speak lightly to those he (still) intends to fight.

Goku, of course, thinks nothing of it. "Eh," he shrugs, smiling that childish smile of his, "Watching children play is a popular pastime."

Both of them turn their gazes to the sea and leave it at that.

Vegeta is a private person. Loud as he sometimes (often) is, the tendency to keep the most important things to himself is too ingrained in him to change. He had learned at a very young age that openness was potentially fatal, though much of that was probably due to the company he once kept. Goku is one of the most friendly, open, downright _readable_ people on this planet, and he doesn't know how to be anything other than what he is. He is effortlessly at ease in fun, peaceful situations; Vegeta never unwinds, never lets down his guard. One is royalty; the other is a common soldier. (_The Prince and the Pauper, coming from two different lives, identical in every respect and yet they could not be more different if they tried._) They had fought each other, helped each other, literally been to hell and back.

Their powers are as equal as any two fighters are likely to be, but the Prince knows that he will always be second best.

Right now, at this moment in time, this fact bothers him less than it usually does.

"Tell me something, Kakarot," he asks in a quiet voice, "What is it you plan on doing with your life?" His rival looks confused by the question, so the Saiyan continues, "The world's safe once again. Another enemy defeated, another miracle achieved. You're a warrior, Kakarot, but what do you plan on doing if there's no one to fight?"

Goku smiles that idiotic smile again as he says, "Well... I don't really know."

Once, Vegeta might have started at that, but not now. He's done being surprised by Kakarot's... idiosyncracies.

Goku continues, looking up at the sky. "I mean, you and I, we're neither of us supposed to be here. But we are." His boyish grin widens. "We've come back from the dead, Vegeta. _Twice_. What more is there to do?"

Vegeta continues looking toward the darkening horizon (which he _still_ can't seem to find). "And therein lies the problem," he says.

Goku blinks, and then comprehension dawns. "Oh."

Silence.

_(Silence but for the wind and the waves and the laughter echoing across the water. Nothing is truly silent after the void of—_

"There's still us."

A start. "What?"

Goku is still smiling. (_Does he ever stop?_) "We're both still around. At the same time and place, as it happens, which is something relatively new. Wanna give that rematch another shot?"

_Fruitless, relentless anger; seeing red. The decision to kill—but no. Maim first, kill second, and _oh_ how he would enjoy it. The arrogant upstart would finally (literally) be cut down to size, and the Prince would reclaim his throne... at any cost. Nerve-wracking vibrations, pains in his head and stomach greater than he's ever felt as Babitti's orders go against his own desire. The decision (the ability, the _will_) to defy those orders—there is only one thing he wants. Not even the mighty Frieza could fully control the Prince of all Saiyans; this so-called wizard is nothing to him. And the red in his eyes is blood, which he blinks away as meaningless as tears._

Vegeta does not answer right away. Instead he watches, his expression unreadable, as the children's footprints are washed away by the peaceful, lapping waters. But sure enough, the same ground is tread over again, and footprints are made anew (because some history _should_ be forgotten, and replaced with the story of _Now_).

To sell your soul is such a strange feeling. To fight against the negative repercussions of such is even stranger. Bulma, he later learned, had been so perilously close to that second blast it made his stomach clench to think of what might have been. But power was what he'd wanted, and he'd be damned (_oh the irony_) if he was going to let anything else get in the way of his ultimate goal. Babitti was a means to an end—even if the end wasn't precisely what he'd originally intended.

(But who is to say what would have happened, had he chosen differently? And some part of him knows that it is not decisions, but choices, that make us who we are.)

_He had decided to destroy, but chose to create. No regret, but responsibility for his actions. He had unleashed this abomination, and he would see to it personally, without help from anyone, that it was put to rest. It is the duty and honor of a Prince of Saiyans to protect his race, no matter how few of them remain. And if the price for protecting the family he'd created, the allies who had come to trust him, the planet he'd adopted as his home, was death, then so be it. _

_In the end, all masks were stripped away. In a moment of desperation, he discovered what mattered most._

"Not yet," he finally says. (To challenge a man who could only make the battle even by holding back would be the height of dishonor, not worthy of the great Prince _or_ his rival.)

Goku says nothing to this, but Vegeta knows he understands. He may not always act like it, but Kakarot is a Saiyan.

Silence again, but this time there is no sense of disorientation; he knows exactly where (when, what, _who_) he is. There is no longer any darkness or mystery on the other side of the sky when you have walked willingly into its embrace. The fear that once made him seek immortality, immunity from that _other place_, is long gone. Some would call that bravery. Others foolishness. He can even think of a few who would call it wisdom. But it no longer matters to him, because he finally knows where he stands.

The dying sun is down to it's last rays of light, and the shifting waters reflect the growing number of stars. For a moment he thinks he has found that invisible horizon, but a scream of glee and laughter from the children on the shoreline draws his attention. The young ones have both been knocked over by a large wave and are now thoroughly soaked. He watches with no small amount of amusement as their mothers trek down from the sand to scold them for their carelessness, but the boys insist they can easily dry themselves off. Without another word their _ki_ skyrockets, and both of them transform into the Saiyan warriors of legend. Next to him, Goku laughs as, true to the boys' word, most of the water instantly evaporates in the resulting whirlwind of energy (though their mothers are less than amused).

Vegeta recalls his own struggle to ascend, as well as his incredulity when he discovered the children had made the jump all on their own, without even trying. But perhaps it makes more sense than he previously thought. The Super Saiyan transformation is triggered by purest emotion, after all (something that had very nearly been bred out of the Saiyan race), and what are children—particularly human children—but great concentrated bundles of _feeling_? Simplistic wants and desires, an untainted view of the world... and so secure in the knowledge that, whatever happens, everything will turn out alright.

_(Solomn joy and sudden spark...)_

Children are such an odd breed, he thinks. Astounding, really—they are endlessly inventive, endlessly resilient, and impossibly strong (if given the chance to prove themselves). It was this reservior of inner strength that helped Trunks to accept that his father was not the god he once believed in, and to forgive him for... well, everything. It was this incredible resilience that let Goten watch his mother get brutally murdered and come back from it stronger and more determined than ever. It was their inventiveness, their creativity and imagination, that allowed a pair of children, not even ten years old, to go toe to toe with the destroyer of worlds, the terror of the universe, and come very close to winning.

Now the threat is gone, and the boys are free to be children again. There is... an odd sense of peace in that knowledge. Children, for all their incredible power, should have a chance to be just that: children. It's a time that will never come again (a time that was stolen, a time Vegeta never even had), and so should not be wasted.

Goku is the first to break the silence, nodding in the direction of the other adults. "Well, it looks like the others are ready to head home." He turns to Vegeta, who has not moved. "You coming?"

A noncommittal grunt is Vegeta's only reply. There is more significance to that question than Kakarot realizes, he thinks. (And he is not sure if he is ready to know the answer.)

The other Saiyan shrugs; by now he is as familiar with his rival's quirks as vice versa. Without another word he stands up and rejoins the main group. Vegeta does not follow, and neither does he watch as Goku walks away. (_Ahead, further and further, to a place he cannot follow and never could reach._)

He wants so badly to hate him. Vegeta wants to hate this brainless baffoon who treats fighting like a game and wouldn't harm a fly if he could help it. He is, purely and simply, infuriating. This... _child_ in a man's body is by far the most maddening person he's ever met (though Bulma ranks a close second). He has more power than he knows what to do with, and his instincts more than make up for his lack of intelligence. He shows the Prince up at every opportunity, surpassing him in every way possible. He is a dangerous (thrilling) opponent. He puts his neck on the line for strangers when he isn't entirely sure where the line _is_. How can a warrior live like that and still be so strong?

_(Ahead, further and further—_

From the moment he arrived on this small, out-of-the-way planet, he had faced one change after another. There was nothing but _time to think_ (stagnant, maddening times of _waiting_; he never wanted the conflicting emotions that go along with questioning your own decisions) in between each step, each battle. Nothing but time to reflect on the fact that no matter how far past the realms of possibility he pushes himself, _he_ is always one step further.

_Kakarot_, he thinks, _Is it my destiny to be the only one powerful enough to fully comprehend what you are? What you've become? You don't even understand it yourself!_

The battle on the Kai planet had been... the most astounding thing he had ever seen in his life, bar none. Vegeta had changed too, that day, surprising even himself with his concern for—there was no denying it—his friend. But for _Goku_ it was just another challenge, just like always... even if the challenge was bigger than him, he never seemed to care. The guy could get pounded into the ground and still somehow come back with some insane victory that _no one_ could have forseen (thus, exposure to Kakarot and his friends has a way of altering your expectations). But miracles are only real if you are foolish enough to believe in them... which actually says a lot more about the power of innocence than Vegeta would like to admit.

He sighs and shakes his head slightly. Children are children, and adults are not. The fact that Goku acts like a child does not give him the unfathomable power of a child... does it?

—_to a place he cannot follow and never could reach.)_

Vegeta watches, seemingly passive, as another day fades into nothingness. The sun has once again fallen from it's height, and although he knows it will rise again in the morning, he cannot help but wonder at the futility of rising at all. But no, he thinks. With each rise comes the inevitable fall, but each fall in turn triggers yet another rise. (He snorts in disdain at how sentimental he's become over the years, but perhaps he's earned a moment or two to himself. Times like these are few and far between in his life.)

The killer inside him lives on, he knows. There is too much darkness in his past, too much suffering—both caused and earned. It takes so little to bring his old hatred boiling back to the surface, memories of his uphill struggle fueling a devestating power. He is different now than he was then, but the difference is marginal at best. (The differences are also clearly defined, embodied in the people he has come to care for, the events in which he's learned so much. But this is something he has yet to realize.)

He's fought. He's learned. He's reassessed his priorities. In the course of circumstance after circumstance, one enemy after another, he has slowly become one of _them_. The change almost snuck up on him, really. It had been something building in the background of the goings-on in his life, something he didn't even realize was happening until it was too late. But planet Earth is his home now—far from being one of those in an endless string of maniacs bent on destroying the little blue planet, Vegeta is now considered one of it's greatest protectors, even setting up home with one of its inhabitants. Confusing and more than a little angering though it is, at some level he knew all along this would happen. He's known it ever since Goten started calling him Uncle.

(To know and to be are not the same thing, but one always eventually leads to the other, with or without cognitive permission. Such is the way of the world.)

It is getting dark, and Gohan is called by his mother to help clean up the picnic. Videl follows with an offer to help, and the children are left alone once again. More and more stars appear, bathing the scene in a light that is... decidedly different from that of the sun, though not at all unpleasant. Goten and Trunks fly over the sand and surf, taking turns chasing one another (_toward the future from the past_) and not caring who wins. Their childish laughter echoes across the endless waters, and they believe for all the world that there is nothing they cannot do.

Perhaps the secret to Kakarot's power is not the love of family and friends, as he originally thought. It is not even the desire to protect, although that probably spurs him on when things are at their darkest. No, what allows Goku to succeed where everyone else fails is the fact that the possibility of failure never even crosses his mind. There is no winning or losing to him, only the challenge presented, the opportunity to better himself. To him, it is not about the destination, but the journey. (And _what_ a journey it has been.)

_(Further and further and further ahead..._

Now exist here, together, the last of their race... but not the last, not really. Saiyan blood has thinned through the generations, but it shows regardless. The strong-willed children they've produced are just as powerful as their predecessors, perhaps more in some aspects. (And the irony of this tiny, backwater planet he'd once been bent on destroying being home to the last traces of his own dead race does not escape him in the slightest.)

Two of a kind, those boys are, and some of the strongest fighters in the universe. Seeing the playfulness and glee with which they frolic in the waves, you'd never believe them to be capable of violence. But seeing the ferocity with which they spar in their free time, you'd never believe the depth of friendship they share. They are the sons of two of the fiercest rivals the universe has to offer, and yet two more devoted boys cannot be found, regardless of the tension between their fathers. They are at an age where differences are quickly forgotten in the wake of the next all-engrossing activitiy, and the roots of their friendship are more than deep enough to weather such bickering.

_...farther than the eye can see..._

Recent years have altered his opinion on many things, including the relative insignificance of Kakarot's adopted people. They are weak and feeble-minded, it is true, and the vast majority of them are happy to blindly follow trends like sheep, but there _is_ potential there. Some of the greatest results of such potential stand before him, making footprints in the sand. There is something new happening here. _That much_ he has known for quite some time now.

Slowly, hardly making a sound, Vegeta stands up. (The world moves with him, it seems, watching intently and awaiting a decision—a _choice_—that will set the stage for the rest of his life.) For a moment he does not move.

Kakarot is the better fighter, and a part of him will always hate him for that.

But not today.

_...the clouds part, the darkness lifts..._

He watches them as they stand together on the beach beneath the twilit sky... Bulma, whose image is so ingrained on his mind and soul that even Babitti could not take it away. Trunks, who never stopped believing in him. Gohan, who's unprecedented power gave him his first inkling of what Earthlings were capable of. Piccolo, not with the others, but hovering somewhere out of sight, a solitary guardian of the friends he'd come to treasure like family. Videl. Yamcha. Krillin. Eighteen. Maron. Chichi. Goten.

Kakarot.

Their eyes meet, and the two Saiyans exchange the briefest of glances. But they understand each other now, with a silent language that speaks more than words ever could. That one look says it all.

_...revealing a brilliant, glorious future just waiting to be claimed.)_

With a nod, the Prince takes flight, climbing high into the cloudless sky. Trunks and Bulma wave to him as he passes; he gives them the barest of acknowledgements as he climbs still higher, where the air is thin and cold. Below him, the cities of Earth light up in response to the encroaching shadows, a reflection of the starry sky above. (The sun has long since set, but he flies fearlessly into the night, knowing that the deepest darkness is where the sun will rise again.)

The thought is a strange one, but he can sort of see why Goku wants to protect all of those tiny points of light—insignificant pinpricks though they may seem, they combine to form a radiance far brighter than anything in the cosmos, a beacon of determination and hope that even the darkest night cannot smother out. There is potential in these people, rumbling like a rushing river just under a coating of ice. The power to be so much greater awaits every one of them if they'd only peer beneath the surface. And he wants very much to see what happens... when they finally break through.

Vegeta allows himself a smirk as a supreme irony strikes him—he has not adopted this planet as his home; this planet has adopted him.

And, for some reason, it doesn't bother him in the slightest.

* * *

_"There they stand,_  
_Making footprints in the sand,_  
_And forever hand in hand,_  
_Our children._  
_Two small lives,_  
_Silhouetted by the blue,_  
_One like me and one like you._  
_Our children._  
_Our children."_  
—Ragtime, "Our Children"

* * *

Kinda random, isn't it, the way everything sort of meanders around? Our choir was assigned a Ragtime medley to sing for the spring concert, and the lyrics somehow sprouted this. Much inspiration was also drawn from a couple of my beta's original oneshots. She's very esoteric that way; her writing is more like poetry than prose. Here, have a link or two:

_unto the shores of forever_ — http : / / hikari - katsuya . deviant art . com / art / unto - the - shores - of - forever - 118664776.

_Vyirvat'sya_ — http : / / hikari - katsuya . deviant art . com / art / Vyirvat - sya - 118667868.

Anyway... Win? Fail? Divide by zero? This is actually my first attempt at something so existential, so feedback is not only requested, it's begged for!


End file.
